A few years ago, in night’s pitch dark I stood inside a small shed, 30 feet long and 15 feet across and 15 feet high under the loft. The down pour outside pinged the glass windows loud. Would my eight-year-old son wake up as he slept in the loft?

The rain did not keep me awake. My restless thoughts did. Another shed, this one made for sheep housing, is a short walk away, up a gentle incline on a dirt road. In the horrendous thunderstorm, do the five sheep need guidance back in. During many warm star-filled nights, one gate keeps them on the outside land instead of their shed. They need letting in tonight.

Several minutes into my walk up the hill, I am drenched under the rain poncho. At the gate, I swing the fencing wide and…